Nightmare vs Reality
by Swa-Sa Masou
Summary: Third Frary one-shot set during season 2. None of my one-shots are connected, they're all just times during the first half of season two that could have made life easier for Frary shippers.


_A/N: Another Frary one-shot during their rough time in season 2. Set during the times when Francis is sleeping on the divan in Mary's chambers. Unconnected Frary one-shot #3. As always, I don't own Reign. And, as always, I'm mad at myself for caring this much about two people who, in actual history, I dislike._

 _He was running down in interminably long hallway. The doors to the chambers he shared with his wife wasn't getting any closer. Had the private chambers in this castle always had such long hallways? Why hadn't he brought Mary with him? Why hadn't he moved her to a more secure location? As soon as he saw the slain guards, missing vital pieces of their armor, he and Bash knew there was something amiss. The visors and gauntlets bearing the royal crest were missing. The only reason for that, as Bash had stated, was to impersonate a guard to gain access to secure locations of the castle._

 _The rooms blurred by, but the doors never seemed to draw nearer. He could see the bodies of two slain guards by the doors. That almost certainly meant the intruders were inside- with Mary. He had to get to her. His legs wouldn't move any faster. He could hear Mary's scream coming from the other side of the doors-_

"No!" Francis' eyes snapped open. He wasn't running in the hall. The night of the Protestant extremists in the castle was weeks ago. He was lying on the couch in Mary's chambers, not even their shared ones that she, understandably, had not wanted to sleep in since that night. The scream, however, was real.

Mary was sitting up in her bed, clutching the blankets to her chest and sobbing. The guard outside the door, an actual palace guard, was at the door, but seeing nothing alarming, he hadn't entered the room any farther. "Everything is fine, return to your post. Thank you for your vigilance." Francis spoke as he sat up and made his way to Mary's side.

Being careful not to move to close, Francis sat down at the foot of the bed. "Mary. Mary, I'm here. Look at me. Just me. Was it the same dream?"

Mary was still shaking and it affected her words, though she was clearly trying to be brave. "Yes. Yes, it was the same dream. I just keep seeing his face. I keep hearing his breathing as he stared at me. The feel of his hands on my neck." Her breathing slowed. She finally looked up from the blankets she'd been staring at and wiped at her eyes. Locking eyes with Francis, she took in his tired appearance. "Oh, Francis, I'm sorry to have awoken you. You're not getting nearly enough rest as it is. Are you sure you want to continue sleeping in here? I keep stirring you from your sleep with my silly dreams."

"Mary, your dreams are anything but silly and I want to be as near to you as you'll let me. If that's this divan, then I'll happily sleep here as long as it takes." Dropping his gaze from hers, he weighed his next words. Would it help her to know that she wasn't the only one reliving that night or would it add to her guilt if she knew that he was suffering from nightmares of not being there to help her? "You're not exactly disrupting peaceful nights as it is. I keep having a dream that instead of being leagues away, I'm here. That Bash and I made it back to the castle in time to know of the intruders, but too late to help you. No matter how fast I run, I can't make it down the corridor fast enough to help you."

"Francis, you couldn't have done anything. If you had been here, they would have killed you and possibly done the same or worse to me as they did." The blankets had pooled in her lap as she looked once more at the sofa her husband had been sleeping on for the past several days. "but since then, thank you for all that you have done for me. You've been so patient and so understanding of my asking you for space."

Mary barely heard Francis' chuckle. "Mary, I've been sleeping three feet from your bed, I bring you wood for your hearth each morning. I've hardly been letting you lead a separate life."

Almost without thought, Mary moved down the bed to hunch around her knees, also drawing herself closer to Francis. Her voice adopted a teasing lilt. "It was a bit annoying at first, but now I'm becoming quite used to the King of France being my personal servant literally waiting on me hand and foot."

Francis' smile lit up his face that she was teasing him, and far be it from him to let this atmosphere dissipate. "Why, Mary, Queen of Scots and France, am I hearing this correctly? Are you thanking me for not listening to you?"

Her laughter echoed off the high ceilings. She shifted to reach him better and her small hand shot out to give her husband a playful shove and then came to. "You will never hear me say anything like that again, so relish it! Bask in your short-lived glory!" She let her hand come to rest upon his lower thigh.

Francis' eyes didn't stray from her hand and its perch. This was the most intimate touch he'd had from her in far too long. Even before the events of her ordeal, they hadn't been on the best of terms. Slowly his eyes moved up and to hers.

Her eyes bore into his. If he wasn't mistaken, she was leaning forward, toward him, "Francis…" her voice trailed off. He moved forward at an agonizingly slow speed, giving her time to change her mind and back away.

She didn't.

Their lips met, softly. It was like the kisses they had shared very early on in their courtship. He was terrified of moving against her too much. He didn't want to push her. But this kiss! Water in the desert. The first breath after being underwater longer than advisable. The first steps on solid ground after being on board a ship for too long. Finally sitting on a cushion after being astride a horse all day. Nothing compared to how this kiss, this first kiss between husband and wife in far too long, felt.

Then there was a hand on his chest.

Francis pulled away immediately, no matter how deeply every part of him wanted to keep them connected. It was a step. If she gave him small steps for the rest of his life, he swore that he would be fine with it.

Mary's breath was coming heavily again. Her head bowed. "I'm sorry, Francis. I'm sorry. I just keep flashing back to that night. I relive it each night in my sleep. I awake and I see you. You're so different from those men. I just can't separate your touch of love from theirs of hatred."

"Mary, I've said I'll wait as long as necessary. There's no need to apologize." Her words finally settling in, Francis spoke softly, hoping her head would rise again so he could see her eyes "May I try something? I want to help you to remember that the nightmare is over."

Mary's head had risen, and she stared at him questioningly, but nodded.

Francis held out his hand palm up, "If I may have your hand?" Mary laid her hand in his. "You say you can feel his touch on you still. Does my hand feel like his?"

Mary looked at their joined hands, "No. His felt rough, as though he spent most of his days outside, and dirty, as though he didn't wash as often as is prudent."

Francis gently laid her hand back on the bed. "I'm not asking you to tell me how unless it will help. I don't want to ask you to relive anything you're not comfortable with." When Mary nodded, he continued, "Now, close your eyes. Listen to my voice. Does my voice sound like his? Listen to how I say your name, Mary, does it sound like any of those men?"

Mary opened her eyes and reached to touch Francis' cheek. "No, it's still French, but the accents were different."

He gingerly touched Mary's shoulder, "talk me through the differences. I want you to talk yourself through the differences between them and me. I'm the only one who'll be touching you. I want to help you with the understanding that I'm me, I'm here, and I love you. I would never hurt you. I will always respect you. I've made mistakes when we disagreed, but we're both still learning. Talk me through the differences.

Mary began to list the differences, hair, eyes, posture, air of confidence. With each word, she drew closer to Francis until they were seated next to each other on the bed.

Francis sat patiently listening as she described what she was comfortable with and quickly moved past what she wasn't. When she finished, he ran a hand through her hair. "Mary, I would like to hold you, if you'll allow it. That was a nightmare. This is reality and I will never let anything like that happen to you again. May I?"

Mary nodded, unsure how she would react when his arms were actually around her.

"Is there anywhere I should avoid touching you?"

On shaky breath, Mary said, "My, my neck and my wrists. You saw the bruises."

Francis pulled her into his lap, carefully avoiding putting any pressure on her neck or wrists. He felt Mary exhale, one long, relieved sigh, and felt her settle against his chest. He rubbed at her back and felt her breath slow.

This feeling, holding his wife, making her feel safe. This is what he was supposed to be able to do. If they had to repeat this process for weeks, months even, he would.


End file.
